Return to Normalcy: Tess
Walking the moss-draped streets of Cypress Hollow felt like re-entering the atmosphere after a trip to a distant planet. The remaining hours of the weekend played like a loop in the back of my mind. It was a reel of movements that felt more real than any data set I’d ever audited. We had spent Sunday morning tangled up in each other’s arms, letting the world exist without us. There was no more talk of Stroud, and no mentions of “Domestic Anomalies.” We’d talked more about the garden K.C. wanted to plant, and the fact that he actually knew how to bake sourdough — a skill he’d picked up during his “monk years” that felt entirely too domestic for an Alpha. By Sunday evening, we’d made the move back down the mountain. Returning to the bungalow hadn’t felt like a retreat this time. We’d sat
- Writer
